Safe
by Vidar
Summary: Every so often the blood and violence isn't enough. He does not know why. When not even his experiments can lift his spirits, Medic finds he needs something else to snap out of it.


Medic was having a terrible day.

It was a long weekend, which meant that they would not be summoned for battle until Tuesday morning. Most members of the team took the opportunity to spend the time at home or family for one reason or another.

But for a few members there was no home or family to visit, and so they remained on the base. This usually meant the only souls occupying the base were Engineer, Pyro, and Medic, with Sniper occasionally hanging around to help the Engineer with one of his projects but for the most part the Australian liked to take his van out into the middle of the desert and do whatever it was he liked to do.

Medic tried to force his eyes to read the medical text in front of him, but he was too anxious to read. He leaned back on the chair in his office and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't been able to get anything done today. His ability to take pleasure in anything had shut down, and he had no explanation for it. Nothing seemed interesting. Even the aspect of experimenting with his Medigun, which normally never failed to ignite his passion and love for science, left him dull and listless.

He could try to convince one of the others to assist him in some surgery, that is, coax and badger someone into the operating room where he'd be able to cut them open properly and examine their insides, but Engineer was in the middle of something important on his own. And after the last time trying to cure his phobia, Pyro still wouldn't let him touch him. Medic hadn't meant for his experiment to fail, but he had thought it was worth a try if it lead to Pyro being more open about medical examinations. In hindsight, the waxing compound had been rather excessive. He would have to come up with something else for next time.

He gave a sigh. It would be days until the rest of the team returned. Soldier was always up for a challenge Medic presented, daring for him to find his American blood, bone, and muscles not up to scratch. Then there was Heavy, who was an excellent man to work with. Not only was the Russian cooperative with Medic's experiments, he seemed intrigued as well by them. His large frame also allowed Medic to see his results and outcomes easier. Some of their best conversations had been when Heavy lay flat on the operating table with Medic up to his elbows in his blood and entrails. On any other day the prospect of testing his new Medigun with him would send him into bouts of giddiness.

But today everything felt like swill.

Medic shivered and hugged his coat around him, despite the reasonable temperature in the room. Granary wasn't nearly as hot as Dustbowl had been, and it had consistently balmy weather. Something pecked at his ear, and he turned to find Archimedes had landed on his shoulder. Medic cupped the dove in his hands and stood up.

"Hungry again zen, are ve?" he said absently. He slowly made his way outside, his body like lead. Not even his birds could get him to cheer up, but at least their needs forced him to partake in some kind of activity. He mechanically retrieved the bird seed and filled up the trays, and the sounds alerted the other birds to their feeding time. He stroked Archimedes' head once before releasing him and heading back inside.

Medic struggled to shake the dark feelings from him, but even that was as useless as anything else he had done today. This wasn't anything new, he had periodically dealt with such black moods throughout his life. This knowledge was the only thing keeping him from opening up his own rib cage to examine whether his heart had been somehow damaged by Respawn. Surely feeling like a mountain had fallen on his chest had some medical cause behind it.

The absurdity that his condition rendered Medic without the will or energy to examine himself for a diagnosis was not lost on him.

"Doktor!"

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked up. Just down the hall was Heavy, dressed in a fresh RED uniform and waving a large hand at him in greeting. Medic managed to clear his throat and speak. "Herr Heavy, I thought you vould not be back until Monday evening. Is something wrong?"

"Ah, no," Heavy replied, and the two of them began to walk to the lounge. "No problem. Everything is fine at home. We get done with work on house far earlier, I come back early because I made new…" He paused and frowned in thought. "What is word for drawing of weapons?"

"Blueprints?" Medic offered. "Schematics?"

"Da! New sister for Sascha." Heavy grinned broadly and pulled a notepad out of his pocket. "Lots of things to try. Going to be for intelligence missions. Real good at slowing babies down."

They made it to the lounge and Heavy offered Medic a look on his notes. They were only beginning sketches, and Medic could not read the words of Russian jotted down, but he tried to appreciate the creativity the way Heavy appreciated his works in medicine.

"Looks very promising," said Medic and handed the pad back to Heavy.

"Still lots to work out, but I think will be good."

Medic stared at his teammate's arms, an unfamiliar yearning filling him. How wonderful it would be to feel those arms surrounding him, his ear pressed to Heavy's strong heart, his entire body curled against the rugged wall of Heavy's sturdy frame.

_I'd be safe,_ he thought, and had to shake his head. A ridiculous idea, as utterly attractive as it seemed to his worn-out soul. He sighed and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. He was exhausted. The Russian ceased his description of the plans for the new minigun, and turned to look at Medic.

"Is something wrong, Doktor?" he asked. He brought one huge hand to his forehead, and Medic had to resist the urge to lean into it. "Hmm, not sick."

"It is nothing, Heavy," Medic insisted. He wrapped his own arms around himself in an approximation of what he yearned for, but it was no good. Heavy's embrace would be_ perfect _and it would never happen and this awful feeling would keep pulling him down…

"Need something? Only have to ask," said Heavy. "Have new experiment to try?"

Despite his despair, Medic's lips twitched into a small smile. "Ah, not zis time, Heavy. I am not in ze mood today. Vhat I need…I cannot ask for."

Heavy's face grew concerned after Medic admitted he wasn't interested in doing any surgery. Then he snorted softly. "You can ask for anything. Whether or not I can get…" he shrugged.

Medic felt something break off and crumble inside of him, and before he could stop himself he was speaking. "I need to…I feel in need of an embrace." Blood rushed to his face and he lowered his eyes in embarrassment. "It is ridiculous, of course. Something for _kinder_ to ask. Foolish. I have no idea vhat has gotten into me…"

He trailed off, expecting Heavy to scoff or break into laughter at his weakness. But the other man only blinked and his face softened. He sat down on the nearby sofa, the springs groaning under his weight, and rested himself diagonally before holding his massive arms wide. "With me, Doktor."

Medic ignored just how desperately quick he closed the gap between them and crawled into Heavy's arms. It was precisely as comforting as he had imagined. He nestled his head against Heavy's broad chest and breathed freely for the first time in what felt like ages. The solid pair of arms surrounded him, holding him just tightly enough to keep the shivering needle pricks of nameless fear away.

Heavy relaxed and held Medic, and tilted his head to rest his chin upon the doctor's hair. Medic's chest now felt light and airy, the crushing darkness having ebbed away. It was like a puzzle completed, the last piece clicking into place. Medic closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of being whole once again.

End


End file.
